Haircut
by Vengeance-n-Luv
Summary: Inspired by a picture of Charlie Hunnam on the set of Season 4.  He's sporting a new do, and I wondered about the motivation behind it.  Spoilers for season 3, and potentially the unaired season 4.  Rated MA for graphic violence, language, & adult content


Disclaimer: Do not own anything. Kurt Sutter is a genius and deserves due credit. I am simply borrowing his characters for entertainment. One-shot for a glance at prison life. Warning for Season 3 spoilers and this was inspired by a pic I recently saw with Charlie Hunnam's hair cut off! Rated NC-17 for graphic prison violence and SMUT- but not with other prisoners!

…

Jackson Teller, prison inmate, was getting shaved. Not with the gentle, skilled hands of Floyd from the small barber shop in Charming, nor the loving, caressing fingers of a woman doing a home job. No. This was a prison regulation haircut and Big D was no Floyd. He was a burly, six foot tall black man with calluses and hands like sun cracked leather. He was an orderly who had been allowed monitored hair cutting equipment under the watchful eye of an armed guard in close proximity. He also dealt shivs on the side.

No, the gesture was not loving, as his hands jerked and hacked away at Jax's blonde tresses. He tugged and pulled, and Jax cringed as he heard the dry crackle of his hair being sheared. He was not a vain man, well, not REALLY. His hair had grown long past his shoulders, mainly from neglect. The past year had been hectic and he just didn't have the fucking time to cut it.

Plus he had Tara back in his life now. Tara and his baby boy Abel, the two things that kept his temper in check. He wanted to get out early to see them, and if sucking up and putting on his "good behavior face" would bring him closer, he would do it…or at least try to.

They had been through so much shit this past year, and it was a wonder that he was still standing. From having the love of his life return after a painful 11 year separation, the birth of his son from his crackhead ex-wife, poor Abel's health problems-months spent in NICU wondering if he was going to pull through. He didn't even want to fucking think about the other side of things, the Mayans, the IRA, the Russians and how he was going to deal with them on his way out. Abel being kidnapped, his mother being raped: things too dark and dispiriting to contemplate in his hard concrete cell. Everything seemed colder, and the mood was bleak. At least he wasn't in this alone. He had his stepfather and posse in there to back him up, and sometimes it was enough.

So yes, his hair gotten ridiculously long and somewhere along the way he had encountered a beard that was equally frightful. Funny enough, he was still getting propositioned by the ladies. He figured it made them wet that he was so scruffy and wild looking. The main reason he didn't cut his hair was for Tara. He thought that the pristine doctor would harp on him, or try to clean him up to mirror her own image, but she didn't. Instead, she wrapped her fingers around the different tendrils and twisted it when they were in bed together.

He loved the way her long, elegant digits would hit just the right spots on his head, putting him into a euphoric state of bliss. And when he went down on her, he used it as a tell. He would lick up and down her slit to tease her, all the while lubricating her for later activities. She would mew and sigh gently, and when he looked up at her, she would brush a lock away from his face. It was soft and gentle, and in the barber's chair, Jax found his eyes drifting closed despite Big D's heavy machinations with the dull scissors.

He was re-living himself buried between her legs trying to get her to lose the control she tried so desperately to hold on to. He liked to see her come undone because when she did, she was so wild and ferocious and confident that she could take on the whole world. It was the sexiest thing ever.

The thing that set her off the most was when he thrust his tongue into her. He would squash his face into the wet folds of her pussy, and stick his tongue as far in as it would go, twisting and lapping her up. Coming undone, she would grab great fistfuls of his hair, almost painfully, urging him on, or pushing him deeper. He loved it. And when she finally came, after gently putting his teeth on her oversensitive clit, she would keep her hands wound in his hair and stroke his face with her thumbs, breathless and boneless.

He loved her hair too. She would ride on top of him, skin slapping skin, as he watched his dick going in and out of her. She would reach a certain rhythm and then start _rolling_ her _hips_ in such a way that his eyes would roll back into his head. Then she would lean over and kiss him, devour his soul. And his mind would blank out from the sensation, brought back only by the gentle tickle of her thick auburn hair on his face. The lamplight turned her dark hair into a dark red fire, and it was the most fascinating thing in the world.

And afterwards, when they were worn out and satiated, they would stare into each other's eyes, hands in each other's hair, and she would just twist it round her fingers.

…

Apparently, sometime during his haircut, he moaned too loudly, and Big D slapped him upside the head to wake him from his daydream. It was for her that he was doing this, he told himself. And when D brought out the clippers, he had to steel himself. He was just a little bit vain, afterall. He looked down at the dirty floor and saw the piles of his long fluffy locks. Secretly, he grabbed a piece and stuck it in his pocket.

"All finished, Prettyboy," said D, with a not too gentle shove. Jax looked up and stared at his reflection in the water stained mirror. He looked young and…good. A little naked, sure, but he was confident enough in his looks that he could still walk with pride.

"And now for the second part of the deal," whispered Jax, with an eye peering over at the distracted guard.

"Cash first, Prettyboy." Jax produced a hundred and discreetly dropped the bill into an open drawer as D slipped him a shiv, which he quickly pocketed. It was one half of a scissor blade and ridiculously rusty, but it was razor sharp, he realized, as it had cut a few angry holes into his regulation jumpsuit. The guard pretended not to notice, or perhaps he genuinely didn't care. Jax had some business to take care of.

The whole reason for his haircut and procurement of the blade could be summed up into one name: Drew Howardson. Drew was part of the Aryan brotherhood, foul mouthed and white trash through and through. Outside, he would never step up to a SON, but inside the white supremacists ruled supreme. It was the sheer number of them, and they acted like they ran the place, but this time one of them stepped out of line.

…

It was a few months in and things had gone somewhat peacefully despite their shady pasts with the Mayans and the Nords. So far only Happy had managed to be put into solitary. Clay and Tig had kept low on the radar, trying to make alliances as the relationship with the Nords and Mayans was shaky at best. Bobby was a big hit doing his Elvis impersonation and he had helped build some rapport with the other inmates. Entertainment was scarce on lockdown, and he was good. Juice had made it in as an orderly, doing tech work and filing, so their connections were running a little more solid. Jax had been surprisingly positive as things had finally seemed to be working in his favor.

That was when he had his first run in with Drew. Jax was in the showers, minding his business, and more importantly NOT eyeing anyone's junk. Still, one must stay keenly aware in such a vulnerable state. He had seen the blur of movement out of the corner of his eye, and was instantly on the defensive. The other few people who were in the showers cleared out in a hurry, not wanting to witness the upcoming events.

"Hey Blondie," said Drew, an imposing skinhead with racist tattoos and slurs inked across his stocky form. There were three guys with him. _Shit_, thought Jax. He was outnumbered and his stomach clenched up like a fist.

"Fuck you want?" said Jax, trying to keep his composure as the situation started closing in.

"Your pretty lil' mouth around my cock," he drawled, pulling down his pants, and that's when Jax took the moment to strike. His fists came down to the guy on his right, the biggest and ugliest. Four rapid jabs to the head brought him down in a flash, and Jax was going for the second man. He was at a disadvantage, being stark naked and them being fully clothed. It is a great task for a man to fight naked. It was for that reason that he didn't notice the guy slip behind him, until a sharp yank ripped him backwards.

_That motherfucker pulled my hair_, he thought as heat covered his head in a burning cap. The sense of dread worked even further as the remaining two grabbed his arms, pushing him to his knees. Drew ambled forward, his erect cock bobbing up and down. Jax wasn't going down without a fight, and he wasn't going to be somebody's bitch. He started jerking around, thrashing his body violently in a struggle to break free. That was when Drew grabbed his hair, forcing his head towards his crotch-

-And then _crack! _he released his hold and stumbled backwards as Tig landed a double fisted blow to his head. He had apparently just walked in for a shower as he was only wearing a towel slung low on his hips. "Jax!" he yelled rushing forward to take on one of the guys holding him down. Jax used the opportunity to wrench his body to the side and land a thunderous blow to the last guy. Two quick jabs, and **lights out!** Tig had disabled the other guy, and that just left Drew, huddled down and and naked, trying to orient himself.

Jax didn't know what to say, what could have happened was so potentially horrifying and life changing, that he was lost. He started punching him, quick, sharp blows to the body, and hard, head snapping blows to his face. Jax finished him off with a hard kick to the groin, leaving him a groaning, heaving mess of agony. He wished he had a weapon…

Tig just sat back and let him have his fun, but had to interrupt when he started walking away. "You gonna let him live?" he asked.

"I don't want anything to stop me from going home," said Jax, shaking as the adrenaline started wearing off. He was pissed beyond reason, and terrified. But he had to get home, he had to see Tara, and if he went back to finish him off, he wouldn't stop until the walls were painted crimson with Drew's blood.

"Yeah, but…" said Tig, deflated at the lack of death. "Hold on a sec."

He turned back to Drew, who was still balled up in pain, and drove his thumb into his eye. Drew started convulsing and cursing, trying to fight off Tig to no avail. "You don't know what you just did, do you, you fucking faggot? If you ever mess with a SON again, I'm gonna come back and skull-fuck you, you understand?" After the speech, Drew nodded in acquiescence, and Tig spit into his bloody eye socket.

Jax and Tig walked on in silence as the guards and inmates rushed into the bathroom behind them. "You know, I never really liked you," said Jax, "but thanks for what you did."

"You're a Crow, it's what we do."

…

Several months had gone by without incident, until Jax went to his cell to find his two most prized possessions missing: two photographs that he slept with under his pillow and woke up to each morning. The symbol of hope that he still had a life outside those constricting iron bars. He had roughed up his cellmate and bloodied the answer out of him.

A few minutes later, they were in the mess hall, the gang droning in line whilst Jax searched out the man he was determined to kill. He picked him out by the distinct black patch covering his right eye, and he saw Jax too. It was a stare down, and Jax grimaced, throwing his tray down on table, stalking in a barely controlled rage. The guys sensed that something was wrong and Clay, Bobby, Tig, and Happy (recently released from solitary) quickly followed. "You got something of mine," hissed Jax, his fists clenched and ready to go.

"You mean this?" he snarled, pulling a bent photograph from his pocket. It was of Tara holding Abel, her stomach showing the small rounded bump of their baby. "Had a good time with this last night," he said, grabbing his crotch. And with that, Jax lunged, fists flying as both crews got in the mix. The guards were yelling and it was a fumble of food and the orange of the prisoner's jumpsuits. Somebody ripped at his hair, and the pain was excruciating. Before he could turn around and see who it was, a gunshot rippled through the air. The sound was deafening and immediately everyone dropped to the floor. Guards started sorting through the mess, guiding the inmates back into a semblance of order. He locked his eyes on Drew who was staring back at him as he slowly moved his hand forward, depositing a fluffy ball of Jax's hair. Jax had to do something about this.

…

And so he found himself with Big D, getting a haircut and a blade. He mailed off a letter to Tara, something he tried to do every couple of days just to stay present in her life. He was going to get his pictures back, and he was going to make Drew pay.

…

Juice had found a way to get a look at the security cameras in the prison during his filing duties. He had found the perfect place for the deed outside of the camera's range, and it was relatively easy to single Drew out and lure him there. Bobby was going to do an impromptu concert in the yard to keep everyone distracted. While he was belting Jailhouse Rock at the top of his lungs, Jax had pulled up to Drew and whispered, "I want to make a deal for my pictures."

Drew nodded and followed him out to the blind spot, a corner just a few feet away from the crowd. It was a dangerous position, as the guards in the yard carried firearms, and were always a little more watchful and paranoid. However, the mass of prison inmates would distract them from singling Jax out and implicating him later on. He did not need to do more time.

Drew walked out to the spot, his crew eyeballing him, and Samcro watching them in turn. "Well, what you gonna do for them?" he asked, "Suck my dick?"

"It's one thing to step up to me, I'll kick your ass for it," Jax said with menace, "but you disrespect my WOMAN," and with that Jax lashed out, shiv in hand, and punctured his throat. "My SON!" he said and this time slashed his belly. The movement was so fast and unexpected that Drew barely had time to react. His hands rushed to his wounds as he gurgled out a bloody cry. At this point one of the guards had seen the scuffle and Happy flipped a table whilst Clay and the others started randomly attacking people. The distraction was enough and Jax jumped on top of Drew as he slumped to the floor. He took the blade and shoved it as hard as he could into the man's scrotum, "And this-this is for my unborn child," he stood up amidst the impending riot and bellowed out, "YOU DON'T FUCK WITH SAMCRO!"

BOOM! The guards from the tower shot out and the prison alarms were sounding. People started to drop to the ground in a submissive position and Jax rummaged through Drew's pockets to find his photographs. He wiped the shiv clean and stuck it in the pocket of one of Drew's cohorts, careful not to leave his fingerprints.

…

Jax spent the next 2 days in solitary, the quiet of the cell was maddening, but he relished the opportunity. The guards weren't able to single him out from the security footage (thank you Juice) and he was not going to have to serve any additional time. He was in solitary while they investigated the murder. A guard was sure he saw Jax talking to him before the riot, but he couldn't say one hundred percent. It was his haircut; buzzed close, he was indistinguishable from the other inmates sporting the same look.

Solitary was just a punishment because the guards didn't like his smug attitude. He sat down on his hard cot and ran his hands over his head, taking in the smooth fuzz. He hoped Tara liked it. Reaching into his pocket, he pulled out the two photographs. The one with Tara and Abel, which he lovingly thumbed, stroking the growing boy's face and kissing his old lady. The other was a sonogram-the growing seed inside Tara, a product of their love and a connection that would bind them forever- his son.

…

Tara went out to check the mail, and found a letter from Jax. She opened it up and something dropped out. She quickly scanned his hasty and brief words and started laughing. On the floor was a golden lock of hair, and the letter read:

_ My dearest Tara,_

_Hope you like the new look. _

_ Love,_

_Your Jax._


End file.
